“I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she's just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me” – Daughters, John Mayer
Allistor felt lost.
Trying to understand her mind was like trying to capture the water of an ocean’s wave. On a moment, it would be there, filling his hands with more than he could ever believe he would be able to catch, soaking his fingers and surrounded him with an impossible amount of liquid. A wave that would encircle him with more than he’d ever be able to retain. Next, it would go back, leaving him alone, standing with his hands put together with the little amount he could preserve. However the barrier of his skin was never good enough to hold the salty seawater inside of it, so it would slip, drop by drop, away from him and back to the wet sand. It left him frustrated and with the unsettling feeling that he had left another empty space to be filled inside her.
[f/n] was full of holes.
Mental holes, of questionings he had never thought about. Sometimes her [e/c] eyes would be lost in space, the conjecturing of her mind written in the swirls of the color, going back and forth so fast that he feared that her sanity was also on trial. The feeling that he didn’t have an answer, a solution that could satisfy those unending asking was deeply exasperating. Allistor had the need to cement the scattered pieces of her soul back together, but she never placed them in a reachable place. And, the more cuts and scrapes his skin showed due to all the attempts he made, the more the fractures just seemed grow more profound, unreachable and concealed away from his grasp.
And emotional ones, where she’d demand such a specific type of affection that made him question if he wasn’t trying to compete with the image she had on her head. After all, who can outrun a slanted figment of mind? The distorted figure that was nothing more than a strange reflex of an image of him. The gravure of the perfect blend between flaws and perfections that he didn’t have, and could never dream to achieve. The redhead that existed only inside her thoughts, whispering into her ears the promises he could never find the voice to say out loud. Nor to murmur it.
A blind war of wishes, where he all his weapons were useless.
How can you fight off something you don’t know?
He took a swig of his whiskey, feeling the bitterness burning his mouth before he swallowed it, the flavor still playing at the back of his tongue. He swirled the content of his glass with small movements of his wrists while he observed the living room and the monochromatic glow the objects had under the clear moonlight.
The same boring sofa, the very same one he used to nag about being more for decoration than sitting exposed its figure to his eyes, all angles and lines, like the old forgotten bones of the giants that colored his stories. The absurd amount of books, spread over the environment and pilling over every corner and shelf possible lied in there, like the artifacts of the life and thoughts [f/n] had. Each of them told, through the story that was typed beneath the paper, about the influences and sentiments they inspired on her, dancing along the speed of her eyes.
He exhaled heavily, envious of the pages that seemed to know so much more about the girl than he’d ever do.
He looked to the world outside, watching as his breath steamed the window of that cold night. The position he was sat on, in a poor balance on the wooden window frame, was uncomfortable, and he could already feel his legs going numb due to the time he had spent in the same place. He took another swig of the drink, running a single hand through his hair.
He turned his head towards the soft sound of footsteps entering the room, the girl that had filled his thoughts nearly materializing herself in front of him. She put a [h/c] lock behind her ear, hugging herself due to the coldness on the living room. She wore a shirt he had, not covering enough of her bare legs. The [s/c]ness of her skin distracted him while [f/n] made her way towards him and sat on his lap. He lazily passed an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.
“Can’t sleep?” She mumbled sleepily, leaning her head on his shoulder. Almost instinctively, he kissed her forehead, tightening the loose embrace they were into. The scent of her hair invaded his nostrils, playing inside his lungs and awakening his other senses, capturing every detail of her presence and trapping inside himself.
“Too busy thinking.” He murmured, taking another sip from the whiskey. The taste of the liquid swirled around his tongue, oily and numbing his flesh. It provoked his taste buds, remembering them how it felt to lick away the sweat, the salt it contained out of her skin. How it felt when their teeth clashed, creating a rhythm with their quick breathing and hasted palms. He blinked, going back to the reality and abandoning for now the fantasies with the girl he had in his arms. [f/n] nuzzled on his chest; giving him a somnolent half hug.
“About?” The girl tangled the legs with his, the warmth of her body was contagious, much more than the alcohol that he held in hands. He felt his breathing synchronizing with hers, the very pace of her rapid heart dictating the compass of the blood running inside his veins.
He half smiled against her temple, thinking about how he should answer to that. She could always get to the very core of the situation, without making any effort to it. He, on the other hand, would always be lost into considerations, but never seemed to extract nothing else than a biased version of the truth. Like an unending house of mirrors, where only she got to see the real images. And that was so exasperating.
“You. Me. Us. But mostly you.” He said quietly, not wanting to break the atmosphere they were immersed into.
[f/n] tilted her head up, looking inside him eyes with the ever so open, but eternally clouded [e/c] orbs she had. Letting his gaze meet those was a dangerous move, since there was the real possibility of all that was inside of his mind just flee, leaving only space for the feelings that’d flow inside his entire being. And, inevitably, he’d fall in love once more, like he did from the first time he saw her.
But he focused on solving the doubt he could perceive in the shades of her hues.
“I’m… Worried. That I’m not… I’m not…” His tongue struggled with the words, making them stiff and hard, with sharp edges in each and every one of them, even if that wasn’t what he wanted at all. God, why was this so difficult? Why he was so hesitant in being honest with the person he felt that could tear, shred by shred, each of the figments of his mind? The only person he’d ever allow that.
You’re scared she will leave you. A small voice whispered in his ears and he unintentionally shuddered at that. But he couldn’t discard the idea. Not completely, anyway. Allistor was terrified that she’d leave him. Especially if he showed how far he was from the Allistor she had in her imagination. How he could fill the chasm between her fantasies and the reality he was and not lose her?
That was what was eating his insides slowly.
An angry sensation contorted on the pit of his stomach. He was a man of courage, wasn’t he? He didn’t have any right to be that hesitant. He owed that honesty to her, as much as she held in her hands his heart, to crush it anytime she wanted.
The Scotsman took a deep breath, forcing himself to finish the sentence.
“That I’m not enough for you.” He still could feel the quiver express in it, even if he hated himself for it.
She intertwined her fingers with the hand that wasn’t holding the glass, placing over her torso. Allistor could feel the warmth of her through the fabric of his shirt.
“Do you hear this?” Pulsing under her ribcage, her heart pumped loudly under his touch. Allistor frowned, confused. What did she mean with it? His heart was just as fast as hers, so he couldn’t see her point at all.
“Your heart?” He asked, and she confirmed it, kissing his hand.
“Whenever you feel any doubts, come closer and hear it again. Because you’re the only one that can makes it like this.” The wild pace of the organ now held a whole new meaning, and he found himself squeezing her hand, suddenly drowning into the emotions she was calling out.
“It has its own song and lyric to tell you about my love. ” [f/n] continued, leaning against the crook of his neck. “So you just have to stop and listen. That will answer all of your questioning.”
The smile on his face was so large that he feared for a moment that his face would crack in two.
“I love you.” He murmured and she turned her face to him, a grin and a blush adorning her cheeks.
“I can feel it.” She answered, connecting her lips with his.
And that was all that he could ask for.